


Yashchiki

by feusgan



Category: Metal Gear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-09-01 07:50:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8615701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feusgan/pseuds/feusgan
Summary: Notes from an old hand stationed in Diamond Dogs R&D.





	

Aleksei Yurkov did not have any time for this bullshit. 

He had been part of the Ocelot Unit, an R&D specialist, during Operation Snake Eater, and his former Major had offered him a position in his new organization created in the wake of some Costa Rican incident on which he'd been hastily briefed. Back in the day, he'd have been repairing equipment and spending his days planning and testing all kinds of new technology. Twenty years later, he was getting to experience scientific and technological advancements he thought he'd only ever be able to dream of, let alone experience in person. There wasn't a week that went by without something new and exciting passing by his station on the R&D floor, tugging on his machinist heartstrings. He longed to be among the men responsible for these creations, or better yet, the teams who got to test them. He knew he was more than capable; he had worked in all the relevant trades since childhood.   
And now he was stuck in the box factory.

He'd tried to argue this placement with Major Ocelot, but the prettyboy cowboy imitator wouldn't budge. He insisted that this placement was payback for some slight he had committed all those years ago while fucking around in the jungle.  
"Какого черта?", he had asked the Major  
"Делай, как вы сказали, скраб." Ocelot had replied. And that was the end of that.

Working in Box Development _did_ have its high points. They were stationed at the back of the warehouse, which was a good vantage point for all the activity the other teams were up to. He was glad to be outside of the blast range for accidents in the rocket department, instead getting to watch the techs get knocked on their asses from afar. He wasn’t getting his hearing blasted all to shit with the artillery team, or risking getting shot in the foot by some overeager new recruit to the gun devs. On the monthly-or-so occasions when The Boss himself had time to tour the R &D floor, there was no embarrassment when something he tried to test didn’t work, or was clearly assembled incorrectly. The Boss never spent much time with the box team, but they all knew that was due to the fact that he trusted them. Still, they looked forward to the regular nod and grunt of approval from their horned overseer.   
The Boss was hardly the man Aleksei remembered from the jungle all those years ago- he was quieter, more subdued, maybe even _gentler_ , Aleksei dared to think. But twenty years had changed everyone, even without a nine-year coma to recover from. One thing The Boss hadn’t lost was his enthusiasm for new developments, even if his reactions were more subtle than they might have been two decades ago. A favorite of his had been a cardboard box fused to a creeper- there were rumors that he used it to sleep in, rolling it under the desk in his quarters, and leaving the bed to DD. Something about potentially providing a sleeping space to The Boss himself sat well with Aleksei. Still, he wished he could at least dabble in weapons or support items production, even just a few hours a week. There were so many pieces of equipment he longed to get a closer look at, like the Fulton. The hell kind of shocks did that thing have? What was the balloon full of? There were only so many similar questions to be asked of a cardboard box- they had figured out the optimal cardboard makeup long before Aleksei had joined the team. There was stability and security in what he did, to be sure, The Boss would always need cardboard boxes. But there were only so many upgrades that could be made to-  
“Pedrov.”   
“Yeah?”  
“Okay, hear me out. What if we made a box that could be attached to a Fulton. The Boss could send back multiple things at once.”  
“Couldn’t he just put them in a C-can?”  
“You wanna make Boss carry shit around the damn desert until he finds one?”  
“Hmm, good point. I’ll call Miller and pitch him your idea.”  
“… You think we could make a box-mounted turret system?”  
“Don’t push it, Yurkov."

**Author's Note:**

> Translation of the Russian conversation, if you give a dink:
> 
> "What the hell?", He had asked the Major  
> "Do as you're told, scrub." Ocelot had replied. And that was the end of that.


End file.
